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krayfish1's review
5.0
I loved this book so much!
It is split into a section where his friends and colleagues talk about him, a section where he talks about translation, a section of Chinese translations, a section of Japanese translations, a section of articles, and a section of original poems/fiction.
I liked the first section the best. His friends & colleagues paint the portrait of a man who did what he wanted to do in life. He didn't want to work for his cousin in a piano export business, so he followed leads from his friends until he ended up at the British Museum curating the Asian Art there, whereupon he taught himself Chinese and Japanese the better to do his job, and then started translating Chinese poems that he liked. He stayed there ~15 years then retired and spent the rest of his life living in London, translating what he wanted to translate, learning Ainu and Mongolian and other languages, listening to music, skiing, etc.
Of the rest of the book, I most enjoyed: his writings about translation (pp. 131-165 in my copy), "The Lady who Loved Insects", the essay where he snipes at Herbert Giles's translation, and "A Comparison of No with Greek Tragedy and Other Forms of Ancient Drama" (where he demonstrates how a western opera would be rewritten to fit the No conventions).
Favorite bits:
From Edith Sitwell: "...my sister-in-law and I , finding in the library a small and ancient book in an unknown tongue, placed it beside Mr. Waley's bed in the hope that he would confess himself defeated. Next morning... as he placed the book on the breakfast table he announced in a faint voice: 'Turskish. 18th century.' The pages were few; and after an interval of respect we enquired: 'What is it about?' Mr. Waley, with sudden animation: 'The Cat and the Bat. The Cat sat on the Mat. The Cat ate the Rat.' 'Oh, it is a child's book.' 'One would imagine so. One would _hope_ so!'..."
From Sacheverell Sitwell: "He would ask a friend of ours to come to tea 'and bring a book', and they would sit through the summer afternoon in the garden of Gordon Square without speaking a word"
From the editor's essay: "I am told that when Waley was informally asked whether he might accept the Chair in Chinese at Cambridge University vacated by the death of Professor Haloun, his immediate reaction was a murmured 'I would rather be dead.'"
Also from the editor's essay -- the section about being called upon to censor Japanese journalists during WWII, and I think I'm quoting too much so I won't here.
A recounting of the first time they met, ~30 years before they married, when he was 40, by his wife:
He: What do you want to do?
I: Write short stories
He: So do I. Do you write poetry?
I: Of course. Everybody does, surely?
He: What sort of poetry do you like?
I: Well... it used to be all, or nearly. But now it's spoilt a bit.
He: What DO you mean?
I: Well, I got hold of a book -- scarcely even that -- called "Poems from the Chinese". Translations. Part of a series. Published by Benn. I got not only it but all the poets -- Binyon, de la Mare, Blunden, everybody -- but "The Chinese" is the only one I brought twelve thousand miles. It's somehow made other kinds of poetry just... dull.
He: Who's the translator?
I: Waley, I think. Yes, Arthur Waley. Do you know him?
He: Yes.
I: Oh, how lucky you are -- you know everyone!
He: I... don't know him very well.
It is split into a section where his friends and colleagues talk about him, a section where he talks about translation, a section of Chinese translations, a section of Japanese translations, a section of articles, and a section of original poems/fiction.
I liked the first section the best. His friends & colleagues paint the portrait of a man who did what he wanted to do in life. He didn't want to work for his cousin in a piano export business, so he followed leads from his friends until he ended up at the British Museum curating the Asian Art there, whereupon he taught himself Chinese and Japanese the better to do his job, and then started translating Chinese poems that he liked. He stayed there ~15 years then retired and spent the rest of his life living in London, translating what he wanted to translate, learning Ainu and Mongolian and other languages, listening to music, skiing, etc.
Of the rest of the book, I most enjoyed: his writings about translation (pp. 131-165 in my copy), "The Lady who Loved Insects", the essay where he snipes at Herbert Giles's translation, and "A Comparison of No with Greek Tragedy and Other Forms of Ancient Drama" (where he demonstrates how a western opera would be rewritten to fit the No conventions).
Favorite bits:
From Edith Sitwell: "...my sister-in-law and I , finding in the library a small and ancient book in an unknown tongue, placed it beside Mr. Waley's bed in the hope that he would confess himself defeated. Next morning... as he placed the book on the breakfast table he announced in a faint voice: 'Turskish. 18th century.' The pages were few; and after an interval of respect we enquired: 'What is it about?' Mr. Waley, with sudden animation: 'The Cat and the Bat. The Cat sat on the Mat. The Cat ate the Rat.' 'Oh, it is a child's book.' 'One would imagine so. One would _hope_ so!'..."
From Sacheverell Sitwell: "He would ask a friend of ours to come to tea 'and bring a book', and they would sit through the summer afternoon in the garden of Gordon Square without speaking a word"
From the editor's essay: "I am told that when Waley was informally asked whether he might accept the Chair in Chinese at Cambridge University vacated by the death of Professor Haloun, his immediate reaction was a murmured 'I would rather be dead.'"
Also from the editor's essay -- the section about being called upon to censor Japanese journalists during WWII, and I think I'm quoting too much so I won't here.
A recounting of the first time they met, ~30 years before they married, when he was 40, by his wife:
He: What do you want to do?
I: Write short stories
He: So do I. Do you write poetry?
I: Of course. Everybody does, surely?
He: What sort of poetry do you like?
I: Well... it used to be all, or nearly. But now it's spoilt a bit.
He: What DO you mean?
I: Well, I got hold of a book -- scarcely even that -- called "Poems from the Chinese". Translations. Part of a series. Published by Benn. I got not only it but all the poets -- Binyon, de la Mare, Blunden, everybody -- but "The Chinese" is the only one I brought twelve thousand miles. It's somehow made other kinds of poetry just... dull.
He: Who's the translator?
I: Waley, I think. Yes, Arthur Waley. Do you know him?
He: Yes.
I: Oh, how lucky you are -- you know everyone!
He: I... don't know him very well.
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